The Six-Fold Spark
by Takashidaimao
Summary: Some time has passed since Rung's near-fatal head injury was repaired, but it seems to have reactivated a long-dormant piece of programming that's determined to bite him in the aft. Literally. This product may contain the following: "male on male" romance, multiple pairings, and copious amounts of pure, grade A crack.


It was a typical morning. Well, as typical as it got for the psychiatrist of the Lost Light. Rung let out a light groan as he sat up in his berth, trying to ignore the creaking throughout his frame as he gingerly worked his stiff joints loose. He swung his long, thin legs over the side of the berth, the tips of his peds barely brushing the surface of the floor. His arms lifted above his helm as he stretched out his spinal struts, and he gave a little noise of discomfort with each little pop the components in his back made. Once he was satisfied, he let his arms fall back down to his sides and vented out a small sigh.

He sat there for a long moment, as he often did when he was alone, and directed all of his senses inward. He listened and felt his innermost components as they worked; the meshing of gears, the faint whine of tiny pistons firing, the pulsing of energon and coolants and lubricants flowing through their respective lines, and the barely-audible hum of his spark's electromagnetic field. It was in that field that he felt something slightly off.

Rung's prominent eyebrows furrowed slightly, partly in concentration, partly in curiosity. Something about his EM field didn't feel quite right. It was nothing particularly bad, but it did feel a bit more active than usual, more energetic. In fact, it sort of made him feel a bit pluckier than normal. He honestly wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or grateful for the unexpected boost. He soon decided he'd hold off on any real concern on the issue. After all, it wasn't hurting him at all. Besides, he had his appointments to keep.

* * *

Rung's long walk from his solitary hab suite to his office was a bit more interesting than usual. He was so used to going completely unnoticed by most everyone he passed, even to the point where he'd nearly be run over. Today, however, that wasn't the case. The slender mech felt the lingering optics of everyone he passed looking him over, even turning to stare as they walked by. At first, Rung didn't really mind. After all, it was nice to be noticed for a change.

However, after this same scene repeated itself on the next five decks he passed through, he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. Was there something on him? Was one of his panels hanging off? Had Swerve painted his face to look like an organic feline again while he was recharging? He could feel his spark thumping in his chest every time he made optic contact with someone's lingering gaze.

Soon enough, it got to be more than he could take. The instant he'd turned into a deserted hallway, he dashed over to the nearest window and attempted to examine himself in the reflection. Unfortunately, this only confused him further. There was absolutely nothing unusual about his appearance. His face was as clean as if he'd just polished it moments ago, all of his panels and surface plating seemed to be in order. He even tried to check his backside in the reflection, worrying that he might have sat in something, as that was a popular place for passersby to stare at.

"Hey, Eyebrows. What're we looking at?"

Rung gave an undignified shriek when he heard the voice in his audial, nearly jumping right out of his plating in surprise. He turned, looking up at a smirking Skids with an expression of utter embarrassment on his face. After all, he'd just been caught looking at his own aft in the window. He stuttered awkwardly, not entirely sure how to explain himself. His spark seemed to flutter uncomfortably in his chest, and he couldn't quite tell if it was a result of his embarrassment or if it was just adding to it. Whatever it was, it got worse whenever he looked at Skids. He decided it best to just stare at his own peds until he could regain his composure.

Skids couldn't help but give an amused chuckle. After all, Rung wasn't usually the bashful type.

"What's wrong, Doc? Turbofox caught your tongue?" he asks teasingly, reaching out to tilt the smaller mech's chin up, making him make optic contact. The instant their gaze met, Rung drew in a sharp gasp. His spark thrummed hard in his chest, his frame heating instantly. All of his joints seemed to lock up on him. His face, particularly where Skids was touching him, blazed with heat.

Suddenly, there was a feeling of panic, the same sort he might feel if he'd been confined in a cramped environment for too long. It was as if something in the back of his mind, something primeval, was telling him to run away, to get out of Skids' reach. Yet, at the same time, that primitive piece of programming didn't want him to be anywhere else. In fact, he almost wanted to step just a little bit closer…

"I-I'm terribly sorry, Skids. I really must be going. I've, err… I-I've got a patient waiting for me." He stammered out, brushing Skids' servo away from his face. He then dashed off down the hall, leaving one very confused theoretician in his wake.

* * *

Rung didn't stop until he was safely in his office, not daring to look anyone in the optic along the way. He plopped down in his desk chair, slumping back in it with an exasperated sigh. What in the Pits of Kaon was _that_ all about?! He'd made a complete fool of himself! And why had he gotten so flustered so easily? Did it have anything to do with the way his spark had been acting? He decided it must. It was the only thing out of the ordinary. He thought about heading down to the medibay to get a quick spark scan.

That would have to wait for another time, however. There was a ping at his door, signaling that someone wished to enter. Rung glanced at his console's chronometer. Punctual as always.

"Come on in, Red. It's unlocked." Rung called out, taking a moment to tidy up his desk. Luckily his spark had stopped doing that strange fluttering thing and had gone back to feeling mostly normal.

Red Alert stepped into the spacious office a moment later and immediately proceeded to conduct a full search of the room. Rung didn't make an attempt to stop the paranoid security director in his search for hidden cameras and listening devices. He'd grown accustomed to it over the centuries.

Once Red was satisfied, he took a seat on the edge of the large berth mounted against the wall opposite Run's desk. The petite mech turned his chair around to give his patient a friendly smile of greeting. That was a mistake.

Rung froze up again as he met Red Alert's gaze, his spark pounding in his chest. No, no, no! Not now, dammit! Not during one of his sessions! But he couldn't stop it. He quickly glanced away, hoping he could continue on like normal if he avoided optic contact. Unfortunately, he was sitting across from the galaxy's single most observant mech. Of course he hadn't hidden it in time.

"Is everything alright, Rung? You seem a little… _Off_." Red Alert asked, brow furrowed and his right hand twitching slightly. It didn't take much to look suspicious in his mind. Rung quickly regained his composure, clearing his intakes.

"Y-yes, my apologies. I've had a rather… _odd_ morning." He replied, all the while avoiding optic contact. He unfolded the datascreen mounted to his back, swinging it around to where it was right in front of him. He stared at it intently, though there wasn't really anything there for him to be looking at. It was merely a convenient excuse to keep his optics busy.

"Alright then, let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

Their session continued on normally from there. Red Alert recounted his past week on the ship; how he'd gone to the medibay to get his denta checked for secret surveillance chips, how he'd quickly left again once he realized that all of the medical drones were watching him – but only when he wasn't looking, of course. You know, the usual.

Rung listened patiently, occasionally tapping out some notes on his datascreen. He'd stayed sitting in his desk chair with his leg hooked rather tightly over his opposite knee. He hoped Red wouldn't notice he was trying to keep his distance from the red and white mech. Unfortunately, his plan of just listening wasn't going quite as well as he'd hoped. After a while, just hearing Red Alert's voice seemed to send his spark a-fluttering once more.

Soon enough, he actually tuned Red out for a while. He knew the basic rundown of the security director's paranoid delusions, he could miss one or two and still be on the same page. It was far more important for him to figure out just what in Primus's name was going on with him and correct it. _Fast_.

Actually, now that he thought of it, he could just vaguely recall feeling something similar to this before, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what or when. It was a very long time ago, he knew that. That was probably why he was having such a hard time remembering. That and his own EM field was buzzing in his head, clouding his thoughts, practically moving him on autopilot. It wasn't until Red Alert was describing something he had rather strong feelings about, his emotion showing clearly in his voice and sending a jolt right through the therapist's spark.

Rung sat there for a long moment, frozen, his optics wide behind his glasses, his mouth hanging open slightly. No. No, that _couldn't_ be it. That was _impossible_. He was far too old for _that_ of all things! It had been millennia since the last time this had happened, and it's _never_ hit this strong!

But it couldn't be anything else. It all made sense now. The way his spark flared when he caught sight of an attractive mech, the way his whole frame blazed when Skids barely touched his face, why he was instinctively locking his legs tightly together as he listened to Red Alert speak.

He was in heat.

This was bad. He remembered how he acted while under the influence of a heat cycle. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. He remembered what _others_ had told him he was like during a heat cycle. His own memories of those events were a complete blur. That in itself was a testament to how dire his current situation was.

Rung had to get out of there, preferably _before_ he ended up jumping Red Alert. A ravenous therapist clawing at his interface panel probably wouldn't help his paranoia at all, especially when said therapist was the only one in the galaxy he trusted. He just had to think up some excuse – and a very believable one at that – to cut their session short.

"-ung? Rung! Hey, are you listening?"

Rung gave a startled jump when he heard Red Alert trying to get his attention. Momentarily forgetting his current situation, he made the mistake of looking up. Red had moved and was now standing right in front of him, leaning over into Rung's face to see if he was still awake. Rung's face instantly blazed with heat, his hands tightening around the edges of his datascreen. Oh Primus, why did he have to get so slagging close?! He could feel his spark pounding away in his chest, like a war drum spurring him on for the attack.

Rung stammered wordlessly, trying to think up some excuse, _any_ excuse to get out of this. It didn't even have to be believable at this point. Just _something_. But he couldn't think straight. His energized EM field was buzzing in his head like a thousand Insecticons, scattering his thoughts and throwing his processor into disarray. And the way Red was staring at him, those sky blue pearls like pools of clear water staring into him from behind that ruggedly handsome faceplate…

He barely noticed Red Alert's brow furrowing, his expression shifting to concentration.

"What are you… What's that buzzing?"

Rung snapped out of his daze at that. Oh no… Red had gotten in range of his EM field, and it was getting into his head too! That had to be the worst part of heat; not only did it poke and prod him until he was dying to interface with _anyone_, it tried to do the same to anyone within the range of his spark's EM field. He only hoped – no, _prayed_ – that Red was strong enough to resist, that his EM field wasn't strong enough to influence him.

Red Alert blinked hard, then rubbed at his faceplates, a somewhat confused expression on his face. Rung's hopes sank even as his spark swelled and flared, driving the heat in his frame to near intolerable levels. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wanting nothing more than to be able to run away and avoid the inevitable train wreck to come. But he couldn't. Hell, he couldn't even break his gaze with Red Alert. His programming wouldn't let him. His body refused to listen to him, despite how he screamed at it in his head to move. Unfortunately, it decided to listen.

Slowly, Rung reached a hand forward – or rather his body did – and gingerly caressed Red's cheek. Red Alert drew in a sharp intake, his faceplates tingling where those heated digits had delicately traced. The security director exhaled, his vents blowing out heated air. That did it.

"Rung…" He breathed out huskily, bracing himself against the back of the psychiatrist's chair as he leaned over the slender mech. Rung's intakes hitched as Red neared, his cooling fans whirring to life to keep his already high temperature from frying his circuits. There was nothing more he could do to hold himself back, so he just let go.

Rung's arms shot forward, wrapping around Red Alert's neck and pulling him down into a passionate kiss. Red let himself be pulled down, humming against the orange mech's delicate lips. He reached down to stroke up the inside of Rung's smooth inner thigh, causing him to arch his back and moan against Red's mouth. With one last ounce of sanity still hanging on through the haze of his heat, Rung pulled away from the security director's lips with some reluctance. They parted only inches, their heated breaths brushing over each other's cheeks.

"R-Red… W-we shouldn't do this…" he panted out, one last ditch effort to convince Red to fight it, to come to his senses and make it stop before they did something they'd regret. Red, his thoughts hazy, took a moment to consider. He looked the therapist over, slowly. From the attractively pointed features of Rung's face, down to the sleek curves of his hips, focusing on that orange panel just next to his own hand, heat practically radiating from it.

No, he decided they _should_ do this.


End file.
